


who would have thought i'd get you

by snapchat



Category: Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-02-08 14:04:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12866091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snapchat/pseuds/snapchat
Summary: Five times Woojin tries to propose to Jihoon and the one time he just—he just really fucking misses the chance entirely. Like. Seriously.





	who would have thought i'd get you

**(1) ATLANTA, GEORGIA**

“Waffle House stresses me out,” Jihoon announces, staring dead-eyed, maybe a little too _earnestly_ , into his open Styrofoam cup of shitty McDonald’s coffee. 

It’s the first stop of their spontaneous tour de America (which is maybe an abomination of two languages that Woojin has little to no grasp of)—one of five randomly (seriously, randomly) ( _seriously_ , they have the wheel they spun and the darts they threw and potentially accidentally hit Jinyoung with to prove it) determined locations. 

_“What the hell are you going to do in Atlanta,”_ Daehwi had demanded, not asked, weeks prior.

Well.

So far, they haven’t done much except get terribly lost in a too-cramped rental car all while getting honked at by aggressive drivers. Woojin has spent a good amount of his money at gas stations and McDonald’s and Jihoon has acquired a taste for liquid tar, better known as $1 USD coffee. 

It’s three in the morning and they’re idling on the curb of the Waffle House nearest their hotel. There are a few stubborn stars in the sky, a brisk chill in the air, and the lonely clatter of a forgotten and dented plastic bottle ricocheted in bursts by the wind. 

“Like, for starters, why are they tiny?” Jihoon looks into the far-off distance, evidently searching for answers. “I literally have not seen a Waffle House bigger than the size of Guanlin’s bathroom. Why is that? Why are they limited to the size of a shoe box? What if more people need waffles at three in the morning? What if there’s a waffle shortage and Waffle House is the only place available because every other breakfast place burned to the ground?” 

Woojin blinks wordlessly in response. 

“America has _all_ of this land and they just, they just make their waffle homes teeny. It feels wrong, doesn’t it? Something just doesn’t add up. It’s almost insincere.” Jihoon sighs. “What do you think?”

 _I think I’m seriously in love with you?_ is the first thought that runs through Woojin’s mind, which, frankly, is disgusting. The second is that as much as he’d like to whip out the ring he’s been keeping in his pocket for the past two days and stumble to one knee to ask for Jihoon’s hand in marriage, the setting seems sort of off. 

Maybe it’s not too far from their niche, proposing in front of a dilapidated chain restaurant in the dead of night, but Woojin had kind of imagined something mildly more romantic—and preferably in daylight. 

“Guanlin’s bathroom is pretty big,” replies Woojin. 

The pensive expression on Jihoon’s face is unreasonably endearing. He looks into his cup of coffee again, as though fishing for insight. “You’re right,” he says slowly. “But you wouldn’t really want to open up a restaurant in there, you know? Let alone make waffles.” 

“Sounds like a health violation.” 

“I’m glad we’re here.” 

“In front of this Waffle House, specifically?” 

“No, Woojin, you unromantic asshole. I mean _here_ as in a foreign country with the idiot I’ve been in love with for years. But thank you for your attempt.” 

Their shoulders are touching and Woojin doesn’t even have to squint to catch the grin on Jihoon’s face. 

He could propose right now and it wouldn’t matter—the setting, the timing, the _little details_ wouldn’t amount to anything because it’s stupidly clear how head over heels he is for Jihoon and the realization grows more and more with each passing second that they spend together in the most mundane of moments.

Woojin stretches his leg out to kick idly at a dead leaf a distance away, very nearly losing his balance in the process. “This place could be romantic,” he says with a halfhearted shrug. “Maybe compared to Guanlin’s bathroom.”

Jihoon stifles a laugh. “Shut up.” 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**(2) CHICAGO, ILLINOIS**

“We’re visiting,” complains Jihoon. “We might never _ever_ come to America again. We might never step foot on Chicago’s hallowed grounds ever again in our lives.”

Woojin is the only thing standing between Jihoon (and a pile of really, honestly, untastefully bright clothes) and the cash register queue. 

“You don’t need these clothes,” he says, dead-eyed. “You don’t even have room in your suitcase for this.”

“I can ship it back,” Jihoon says primly. “Or I can use my loving and generous boyfriend’s very spacious suitcase—”

“No, you can’t.”

“Let’s be real. Yes, I can.” 

Woojin opens his mouth to retort, says nothing, and then closes his mouth. He frowns. “Pick one thing,” he says instead. “We just got here and I’m not letting you spend your entire savings in the first store.”

This, apparently, gets to the more rational part of Jihoon’s brain. He lets out a dramatic sigh and forces the clothes into Woojin’s arms without preamble. “Okay, I’ll pick one.” And then, thirty seconds later: “I narrowed it down to six.” 

“Six,” echoes Woojin. “You narrowed it down to six from how many.” 

The pensive expression on Jihoon’s face is not promising in the slightest. He grabs one of the articles of clothing and hangs it on a nearby rack. “Seven,” he replies seriously. 

Maybe he was foolish to think that Chicago would be the _place_. Woojin can barely get Jihoon to focus on More Important Things when they’re meandering the streets of Hongdae—he isn’t sure why he thought it’d be any different in a _giant strip of shops_ in the middle of a bustling city. 

Still, the genuine consternation, borderline agony, on Jihoon’s face draws a reluctant but begrudgingly fond smile onto Woojin’s lips. 

He shakes his head and grabs three of the racks in his arms and pushes the other three into Jihoon’s. “We’ll split it,” Woojin says, turning his back and making his way to the line. 

“Split it?” Jihoon repeats. 

“You heard me.” Woojin rolls his eyes. “Brat.” 

There’s no response for a few seconds, and then Jihoon catapults himself against Woojin’s back, arms wrapping around and hands finding purchase in Woojin’s jacket pockets. Jihoon hooks his chin over Woojin’s shoulder effortlessly, and Woojin doesn’t even have to turn to _feel_ the bashful smile on Jihoon’s lips. 

“I love you,” Jihoon says meekly. “You don’t have to buy them for me.”

“I know I don’t have to,” Woojin grumbles. 

Jihoon pecks Woojin’s cheek and detaches himself—and Woojin feels his heart grow a couple sizes and throws up a silent prayer to God for putting the ring box in his pants pocket and _not_ his jacket. 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**(3) ASHEVILLE, NORTH CAROLINA**

“YOU KNOW,” Jihoon wheezes out, at a few decibels louder than necessary—but understandable considering it’s much harder to regulate volume when your lungs are collapsing, “THIS HIKE WAS ONLY SUPPOSED TO BE MODERATELY DIFFICULT.” 

Another elderly couple sprints past them—sprints past them, specifically, _up the steep incline_. A dog follows cheerfully, un-leashed, and Woojin thinks he’d give an arm and a leg to be born in his next life as a Siberian Husky. 

He wants to talk, maybe bag on Jihoon for being the fucking worst and choosing a hiking trail completely outside of their capability, but his lungs are two seconds away from disintegrating into nothing and Woojin is much too busy counting the stars circling around his head.

“THERE’S,” Jihoon continues, voice growing raspier by the second, “A HELICOPTER PAD SOMEWHERE AND THEN THE PEAK.”

Helicopter pad. Probably a great place to _propose_. The peak, overlooking a scenic mountain view while being goaded on by strangers? Maybe even better.

Woojin slows to a stop and heaves out a breath. The ring that he’s been carrying in his back pocket for what seems like an eternity, now, feels like a lead weight. If Jihoon weren’t his boyfriend and hopefully-soon-to-be-in-the-distant-future-fiancée, he’d _sue_ for bodily harm. 

Maybe not the best ambiance, the best mood to propose in. Maybe he should wait a week or two, try to recover from the hell he’s unleashed on his body, before trying to get down on one knee with his heart on a silver platter. 

“Hey,” Woojin starts to say, with much futility.

Jihoon looks up from where he is drinking from his water bottle by the river-full. “Yeah?” he asks, and he sounds much more human now that they’ve stopped to take a breather.

“I fucking hate you.”

The grin that surfaces on Jihoon’s lips automatically and immediately almost, but only almost, makes Woojin want to grin too—but he steels himself because this hike is torture and he wants to steep in his bitterness for a little while longer. 

“I love you too,” Jihoon has the audacity to sing-song. 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The view is sort of worth it in the end. Woojin has to argue that the view on the helicopter pad was probably better, clearer, and infinitely less-crowded, but there’s something impossible to beat about the way Jihoon’s eyes glow with amazement when they make it to the top.

It’s weird—used to be frustrating—how little, effortless things that Jihoon does makes Woojin reconsider the entire world and its complexities in a brand-new light. 

“We made it,” he breathes out, the smile on his face wide and electric. “This view is ridiculous.” 

Woojin hates everyone who told him that being in love wasn’t at all like the movies because the only thing he can manage to say while his eyes are glued to the intricate lines of Jihoon’s face is, “Yeah, it always is.” 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**(4) NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK**

“Hello, friends and family,” Jihoon greets into the lens of his iPhone. “This is Jihoon and Woojin’s third and second-to-last day in New York City, which means it is very nearly our sixth time eating pizza as a meal.” 

“Seventh,” Woojin corrects, lifting up a greasy paper plate of pepperoni pizza to show the masses. “Who is this video for?” 

“My millions of fans. Jinyoung. My mom.”

Woojin freezes. “She’s going to kill me for not feeding you properly.” 

“Pizza is a well-balanced meal. Carbohydrates give you energy. Cheese is protein. Tomato sauce contains vegetables. It’s baked, not fried.” Jihoon leans closer to Woojin to take a bite out of his slice of pizza. “I guess we probably should have tried more food but I mean, there’s already so much pizza to try in this city— _whoa_.”

“What?”

Jihoon parts his lips in muted awe and keeps his eyes glued to the corner of his phone screen. “There’s a woman proposing to someone behind us. Look at my screen!” 

He’s right. Just a few feet away from the bench they’ve parked themselves on, there’s a proposal happening. Woojin’s gaze flickers from the actual event in itself to the way Jihoon is _glowing_ , every little aspect of his face filled to the brim with a sort of adoration and empathetic happiness that make the butterflies in Woojin’s stomach flutter up a storm. 

There’s a part of him that wants to say _that could be us too_ , but there’s another part of him that wouldn’t want to share any aspect of this moment with anyone other than Jihoon.

The words at the tip of Woojin’s tongue stop fighting each other and he takes the time to appreciate being able to see a genuinely beautiful thing happen before (or behind) his very eyes. 

It’s strange how, in such a big and bright city, they’ve found the most solace sitting in near-silence in an unimaginably vast park with grease-laden slices of pizza in their hands and plastic wrappers floating by the heels of their shoes. 

Maybe it’s a waste of a trip to spend time counting blessings like this—but Woojin finds, as each second passes in Jihoon’s company, that he really couldn’t care less. 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**(5) WASHINGTON, DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA**

“We dropped the ball on this one. There are people waiting in Seoul that expect really great souvenirs and we just—like, honestly? Daehwi’s going to chew your head off if we bring him back a t-shirt that says ‘I Love D.C.’”

“Why isn’t he going to chew _your_ head off?”

Jihoon scoffs. “Have you seen me? Who could hurt a hair on this adorable head?” 

Tactfully, Woojin chooses not to respond and opts, instead, on returning his attention to the gaudy t-shirt selection in front of them. 

“Who cares if we don’t bring souvenirs back?” Woojin says with a shrug. “This is supposed to be our vacation. Maybe we didn’t have time to look for souvenirs. Maybe we were robbed. Maybe we couldn’t find anything good enough for Daehwi.”

“See? You’re making excuses. You’re afraid of Daehwi too.” 

“Do you think he’d like a snow globe?” Woojin asks into the abyss. 

“Okay. Let’s re-order our to-do list for the day. How important is the Lincoln Memorial to you? Washington Monument? Do we really need to see it? I mean, it’s not like it’s the Eiffel Tower or anything, right?” Jihoon glances over his shoulder as though to make sure that he hasn’t offended anyone. “It’s not that I don’t care about these monuments, but if we were in Paris and realized on our last day that we forgot to get Lee Daehwi a souvenir, the Eiffel Tower could literally stab me in the gut and I’d still ditch it to find a shopping mall.” 

Woojin lets out a long, withering sigh and abruptly turns on his heel. “Let’s grab a taxi and ask them to take us to the nearest mall,” he says. 

The steps of the Lincoln Memorial are another Maybe Ideal Proposal Location crossed off of his rapidly depleting list. Maybe it’s for the better. Maybe it’s natural selection. Maybe his entire mind has been filled with _maybe_ s and it’s about time for him to cut the ties loose and move forward in life. 

Woojin lets out his second long, withering sigh of the minute. 

“Someone break your heart?” Jihoon chirrups from beside him, bumping his shoulder. There's a lingering sort of nervousness always present in Jihoon's mannerisms, like he's afraid to offend. It's there now, and Woojin senses it tenfold. “Or are you a big Abraham Lincoln fan? We can look at the memorial if you really want to.” 

“What?” Woojin shakes his head. “That’s not it. I’m fine.” 

“Don’t you think it’s kind of funny how objectively terrible our entire trip has been?” They idle near the edge of the sidewalk, attention split between each other and the road for any passing, vacant cab. “Spending all of our time doing things we could do in Seoul. Neglecting American history to avoid abruptly ending our histories via Daehwi's silent rage. If anybody asked us what we did in America, we’d probably sound ridiculous.”

“What’s so ridiculous about getting kicked out of a Waffle House at three in the morning for loitering?” Jihoon snorts. Woojin takes a moment and tries to ask as casually as possible: “Are you having fun though?” 

Jihoon doesn’t respond immediately. He hums, reaching forward into the street (and Woojin has to grab him by the back of the sweatshirt to reel him back to safety) to hail a taxi. “I always have fun with you,” he says, and his tone is sincere, untouched by jest or even the slightest bit of sarcasm. “We could fly to Hawaii and count grains of sand and I’d probably still have a blast. Cheesy?” 

“Really cheesy,” confirms Woojin, and he’s glad Jihoon’s back is to him because it’s hard to manage the splitting grin that’s threatening to break out onto his face. 

He hasn’t doubted wanting to propose. The circumstances have been less than great and the opportunity that Woojin has been looking for hasn’t presented himself as readily as anticipated—but he’s not so much discouraged as he is impatient. This vacation _has_ been terrible, technically. They’ve done little sightseeing and spent close to no time playing the tourist role. 

That being said, he’s enjoying himself too. And maybe that’s the most ridiculous part about all of this. 

“I got the taxi so you have to tell the driver where we’re going,” Jihoon announces, tumbling into the stopped car before Woojin has the opportunity to protest. 

He follows suits with feigned exasperation but doesn’t try to fight the force that is Park Jihoon. He rarely does. 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**(6) SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA, BUT MORE SPECIFICALLY THE FUCKING INCHEON AIRPORT, FUCK YOU, JIHOON**

Four weeks of nonstop travel and Woojin ends up spending the fifteen-hour flight back to Seoul wondering what the fuck he spent a month doing that wasn’t proposing. 

Daehwi will never let him live for this, he knows it. Woojin can already hear his voice echoing at the back of his mind— _hyung, it’s like you literally didn’t even try to propose even though the only reason why you planned this trip was to, um, well, propose._

He doesn’t have to get down on one knee. He doesn’t have to draw the attention of random passersby. He doesn’t have to sing fa song, set off fireworks, make Jihoon cry like a little baby on camera. He doesn’t need a cake, candles, a fifty-minute PowerPoint presentation documenting their _years_ together as friends, lovers—

He could just ask. Could just say, _what do you think about forever?_

Woojin lets out a harrowing sigh and clamps his eyes shut. 

“I know,” Jihoon sighs back. “The lines were ridiculous today. You’d think that since we’re coming home and we don’t have to go through immigration with all of the visitors that we’d catch a break but I’ve _never_ come back from an international flight and had a good time trying to get to baggage claim.” 

“Yeah,” mutters Woojin. “Something like that.” 

They walk in silence after that, idling on the escalator down to the first floor of the airport to grab their bags. He should probably shoot a text to Daehwi and make sure that he hasn’t come to the airport with a giant, overdone poster to congratulate them on a proposal that surely did not happen. 

“Your bag,” Jihoon says, lugging Woojin’s beat-up suitcase over the edge of the revolving belt. “Are you okay?” 

“What?”

“Are you okay?” 

Woojin rubs his eye with the heel of his hand. “I’m fine,” he mumbles. He swallows the lump in his throat and forces himself to feel a sense of resolve that he doesn’t know if he actually has. “Actually—”

“Hold up.” Jihoon heaves another suitcase onto the ground. “Wait. Let’s talk after I get my hands free.” 

“What do your hands have to do with—” Woojin stops himself abruptly. There are more important matters at hand than the mysterious inner workings of Park Jihoon’s mind. “Never mind.”

Considering the time he’s already wasted trying to find the perfect opportunity, Woojin finds zero harm in spending another ten minutes in blissful limbo. 

“So,” Jihoon says, wheeling his suitcase noisily behind him as he weaves between people until he’s walking shoulder-to-shoulder with Woojin. 

“So?”

“We’d have to figure out logistics,” continues Jihoon. “Probably take another long flight to somewhere that isn’t Korea. We’d have to research and it might take time and maybe it’ll take a _lot_ of it but I don’t mind, to be honest. Actually, if I’m being _totally_ honest, I never really mind if it’s for you.” 

Woojin blinks. “Are we committing a murder?” 

“Okay, first of all, if this were about a murder, I think it’d make more sense for you to ask if we’re _covering up_ a murder. Secondly, you absolutely unromantic asshole, I’m about to propose, so please keep up.” 

“I feel like it was a reasonable guess—you're _wait what the fuck_.” 

“Oh," says Jihoon, entirely unaffected by Woojin's reaction. "I see Daehwi and… Youngmin hyung came too? Wow. We got an entire welcoming committee.”

“No, wait—”

“Right. Anyway, Woojin, want to get married?” 

“What the _fuck_.” 

Daehwi waves his arm wildly, trying to catch their attention. “Over here!” he calls out, until Jihoon acknowledges him with a wave of his own hand.

Woojin stares, looks frantically from Jihoon to Daehwi to Youngmin to Jihoon to the floor to the ceiling to the expanse of faces out in the airport that have absolutely no fucking idea that he’s just been thrown a proposal out of nowhere. 

“Why does Woojin hyung look like the entire world’s just exploded in front of him?” Daehwi asks with a frown. His lips immediately shift into an _’o’_ when a realization that is beyond Woojin dawns on him. “Did you do it?” he asks Jihoon. 

“ _Daehwi_ knows?” Woojin demands. 

“I asked Daehwi for your hand in marriage,” confesses Jihoon. “Well, actually—okay. I asked Youngmin hyung for your hand in marriage and Daehwi happened to be in the room within earshot, so he unintentionally got asked also.”

“You guys must be tired,” Youngmin says thoughtfully, though the kind gesture completely goes over Woojin’s head. 

“Why the hell would you ask Youngmin hyung for my hand in marriage?” 

“Youngmin hyung’s like your mom sort of.” Jihoon pauses. “I asked your mom, also. And your dad. Your little sister too, though she offered to pay me to take you off of her hands.” 

“So much of what you just said is offensive,” Woojin huffs. “He’s not like my mom.” 

“I kind of am.” 

“He kind of is,” Daehwi agrees. 

“Anyway,” Jihoon interjects loudly, “I asked them and then Daehiw told me that _you_ were thinking about proposing to _me_. Which is cute, really, but I have been planning this moment since the day you told me your gay awakening was while watching a Bruce Lee movie and I’d be pissed if you took this from me, so.” 

“Oh my fucking God,” Woojin whispers to himself. “This was planned? You planned to propose to me through casual conversation?” 

“Okay, kind of planned. I’ve been _thinking_ about this moment since the day you told me your gay awakening was via Bruce Lee. But, I—I don’t know. Honestly, the more I tried to plan something extravagant, the more I realized that it’s extremely out of character for us to do the whole rom-com candlelit dinner with the ring in the cake. Mostly because you inhale your food and partially because it’s embarrassing and we’d both hate the attention.” 

“We should probably get to the car,” Youngmin says, despite the fact that no one is listening. “Maybe try to avoid traffic. Donghyun’s waiting for us.”

Woojin takes a second gander at the ceiling. He clamps his eyes shut and tries, in vain, to determine whether he wants to laugh or cry right now. 

“Are you mad?” asks Jihoon. “Also, not to pressure you while we’re in the middle of an airport, but you haven’t responded to my proposal. Not that I’m nervous but I might throw up if you don’t say something that isn’t ‘what the fuck.’”

He laughs. Soundlessly. Woojin clamps a hand over his eyes before sliding it down his face and leveling himself so he can look at Jihoon. 

“Yeah,” he says, and maybe his response is too vague—Jihoon’s gaze looks concerned—but he repeats himself. “Yes.” 

“Yes,” Jihoon repeats slowly, carefully. There’s a smile on his face, small but sure, and it grows by the second. “ _Yes_.”

“Let’s do it,” Woojin confirms. “Let’s figure things out together and get married.” 

Daehwi sniffles. “Youngmin hyung, we’re basically a part of their marriage by proxy now. Isn’t this so touching?” 

Youngmin looks vaguely uncomfortable. “Uh,” he manages. “I don’t think that’s how marriage works. But congratulations, you two!” 

The grin on Jihoon’s face reminds Woojin of the exact same smile from the peak of the cliff that he’d tried so desperately to engrave to memory. There’s a tight feeling at the base of Woojin’s chest—something warm and encouraging, _promising_ , that makes Woojin’s heart swell in the best way possible. 

He thinks it’s funny that the bundle of nerves he’d been trying to coax into submission over the past four weeks have been relinquished in mere minutes and he thinks it’s something like good fate that the only person in the world that’s ever made him fall in love six times in six different cities is the one that’s going to be by his side forever. 

“I have a ring for you,” Woojin says as they make their way out of the airport (finally, and to Youngmin’s delight). 

“Not now,” Jihoon replies, eyes darting from side-to-side. “My hands are still shaking and I don’t want you to put a ring on a coward.” 

“Did you really think I’d say no?”

“No.” Jihoon smiles. “I just get really nervous sometimes when it comes to you.” 

In the streetlamp-glow of Incheon’s streets, Woojin musters up the courage to tangle his fingers with Jihoon’s, securing their joined hands in the jacket pocket that he’s stashed a long-neglected ring box in. 

“We’re engaged now,” Jihoon nearly whispers, the smile on his face ebbing into something shyer, gentler. “Did you ever think this moment would come?” 

Woojin falters, feigns contemplation, and then says, maybe too honestly: “Only since the day we met.”

**Author's Note:**

> short little something i threw together as a warm-up. listen to [get you](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uQFVqltOXRg).


End file.
